Incognito

Excerpt From: Incognito

This was a mistake. Leaning awkwardly against the bar, Miranda stirred her drink gloomily and tried to look relaxed. She resisted the urge to tug at the tight, strapless top, which constantly threatened to slip down and reveal her breasts. She had borrowed the whole costume from her flat mate. It was definitely more Lucy’s style than her own. Miranda watched, fascinated, as Lucy did bumps and grinds on the dance floor, teasing and seductive, in her element. But Miranda did not belong here.

When she had tried on the sleek, form-fitting outfit back at the apartment, Miranda had been pleased in spite of herself. The shiny black fabric was a slightly shocking contrast to her pale skin. The brief skirt highlighted her long legs, shapely and muscular from walking around campus and bicycling along the river. Her black hair, usually braided down her back, draped long and wavy over her bare shoulders. Lucy gave an appreciative wolf whistle.

“You’re gorgeous, girl!” she said, pulling an equally short dress of brilliant red over her trim curves. “I’m going to have a hard time keeping up with you.”

Miranda had laughed despite her uncertainty. Lucy was practically irresistible to men. She had a head full of blonde curls, blue eyes that sparkled with laughter and not a little mischief, a petite but voluptuous body, and as far as Miranda could tell, an insatiable appetite for male flesh.

Every week or two, it seemed, Lucy met a new man of her dreams. She would spend days away from the apartment, dropping in only to grab a few clothes and leave Miranda a cheery note. Lucy was working toward a graduate degree in business, and Miranda sometimes wondered how her roommate could keep up with her responsibilities.

Somehow, though, the vivacious blonde always managed to get top grades.

When her whirlwind affairs ended, as they inevitably did, Lucy would be philosophical. “He wasn’t really right for me,” she would say, sipping the tea that Miranda made to comfort her. “And besides,” she would add with a little smile, “we had some great times.”

Miranda was a different sort of person altogether. She took everything seriously, probably too seriously for her own good. As she watched Lucy on the dance floor, wriggling her red-clad bottom at her current partner, Miranda ruefully contemplated her own romantic past.

In her twenty-four years, she had known only one lover. She had met him while working part-time as a waitress, during her senior year in college. Gentle and seductive, he had initiated her into the mysteries of the flesh. For her, his love had been a revelation, opening windows on new aspects of her self. It had been a great passion, incandescent, searing, fuelled by the incredible energy of youth. He had guided her, challenged her, encouraged her to explore her newly awakened sensuality. Then, he had betrayed her. He had literally abandoned her, disappeared from her life without warning, leaving her nothing but aching hunger and shattered dreams.

To deal with the pain, she withdrew into herself and hid her sensual nature away. At first, she did this consciously, pushing away the vivid, hurtful memories, stifling the longing. After a time, this hardened into habit. Miranda had enough insight into herself to understand why, now, she was shy, stiff and fearful whenever she met a man who appealed to her. She wished that she could be otherwise, but she couldn’t help her reactions.

After her lover left her, she threw herself into her studies and graduated with honours. She was accepted into her present highly competitive doctoral program, moved to Boston, found an apartment and a roommate, and worked harder than ever. Lucy laughingly called her “Ms. Grind”.

“And if you don’t get out and have some fun occasionally,” Lucy would add, “eventually you’ll turn into Dr. Grind, and there will be no hope for you.”

A pleasant tenor voice brought her back to the present. “Would you like to dance?” The young man standing in front of her had wavy brown hair and a friendly smile. He was trim, healthy-looking, well- groomed, innocuous. Miranda half-smiled back.

“No, thanks. Not right now.” She saw regret on his face, but not surprise. Clearly she was broadcasting an aura of aloof disinterest. Despite her sexy attire, his was the first overture that anyone had made to her all night. Miranda sighed, watching his easy movements as he made his way toward a short-haired brunette further down the bar.

It was no use; this type of scene was not going to bring her out of her shell. Nor was it making her feel any better about the rejection of her paper. She had so wanted to go to that conference in London. “You’ll get another chance,” Lucy had said. “Come out with me. Have a good time and forget those stuffed-shirt academics who don’t appreciate you.”

She scanned the dance floor for Lucy, wanting to tell her roommate that she was leaving. The blonde curls and scarlet dress were nowhere to be seen. Probably Lucy had already hooked up with a partner for the evening and left the disco for more private quarters.

“Dance with me.” Spoken softly, close to her ear, this was a command, not a request. She spun around to face the stranger, torn between annoyance and an odd exhilaration.

He was slightly taller than she, slender and muscular. Thick black hair with prominent sideburns, eyes like black coals, tight tailored black pants and a flowing red shirt—the image of a matador flashed through Miranda’s mind, suggested, perhaps, by his slight accent, a softness or blurring of the consonants.

Miranda started to speak, to refuse, but he had already taken her by the hand and was leading her out onto the floor. The music changed and became slow and sensuous. His arms circled her, pulling her up against him. No, she thought to herself, but her body thought otherwise. Her senses leapt awake as her nipples slid over his silk-covered chest. He held her pelvis firmly against his, deliberately pressing his hardness into her belly. He was wearing some type of cologne, some clean, woodsy scent. It made her light-headed.

His voice was in her ear again, so low it was almost a whisper. “You don’t really want to be alone.” He touched the tip of his tongue to her earlobe, making her shiver. “I can see through your mask. I know you. You were made for pleasure.” As if to punctuate his statement, he whirled her around, literally sweeping off her feet.

Miranda gasped, then gasped again as he bent her backward until her hair brushed the wooden dance floor. Supporting her with one strong arm, he used his other hand to fondle her breasts, pinching the nipples through the shiny spandex. Before she could cry out or object, he raised her toward him once more, one hand cupping her buttocks while the other trailed across the skin of her naked back.

His behaviour was outrageous. His hands were everywhere, exploring, probing, sliding up under her skirt, tickling her inner thigh. Everyone must be watching. Looking around, though, Miranda saw that the other couples were similarly occupied. No one knew her, or cared what she did. Meanwhile, her body was on fire, each of his caresses fanning the flames.

Somehow, even as he teased and tempted her, her nameless partner steered her through the crowd of other dancers with expert grace. They danced as if they had done so for years. Their bodies flowed together, communicating in some silent language of nerve and muscle, tension and breathing.

Miranda was panting. She clung to the stranger who controlled and supported her, secretly urging him on to more extreme incursions into the recesses of her body. Her sex felt swollen, damp, heavy with lust. She ground herself against him, willed him to finally slip his fingers into the aching spaces between her legs. Ultimately, though, he did no more than play with her, lightly brushing her silk panties against the curls where her thighs met, sensing her electric response, and smiling to himself.

They danced forever, it seemed, poised on that cusp of desire. Then suddenly the music ended. Her partner released her, took her hand and brought her fingertips to his lips. Warm breath, a gentle kiss. “You see,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, and then he was gone.